Military Intelligence
by puffygeemoth
Summary: The Government has suddenly decided that young children should know how to use a gun. After losing Kenny, Cartman is suspicious of the new kid in school, and finds himself in the middle of internet speculations.
1. Pre-Dawn (Garrison)

Despite how much I love my job, being a teacher can really suck ass, particularly when the Government makes stupid changes to the system. I've spent the last fifteen years or so trying to teach children to be responsible, and what do they do? They step in and tell us that every child, fourth grade or higher, should have basic skills in survival, self-defence and weaponry. Last month, they wanted us to teach kids not to fight! And what do they need to learn to fight for? It's not like there's a war going on over here in America.

The school board had to arrange a trip to the training compound in Wyoming at short notice, for the fourth and fifth grades to do their basic two-week training course. Believe me, their parents were pissed off, but we had to make the kids train if the Government wanted us to, or we'd all lose our jobs.

It was still dark when the kids started to arrive, wrapped up even more than usual. Their hats were dusted in snow and they each carried extra clothes and food in their backpacks. I felt sorry for them.

With me were Mr Bart, Mrs Streible and Mr Adler, who were also supervising. Two buses were parked outside the building. By half five most of the children were there, but we were still waiting for Tweek Tweak, Tammy Warner, Bebe Stevens and Mark Cotswolds. Just to check, I gave a roll call for my class.

"Rebecca," I called, looking at my list.

"What?" she asked from a group of girls, with a slightly angry expression. I knew she would. Like a lot of the girls in my class, she was either sucking up or bitching. It pissed me off sometimes, but I never really mentioned it, as I didn't really see the point. She tossed her shoulder-length red hair over her shoulder.

"Bradley."

"Here!" he replied with a wave, momentarily stopping his conversation with Kevin Stoley. I marked him off, and when I looked up again, he had continued the animated discussion (Star Wars, I guess), smiling madly as usual.

"Henrietta."

No reply. I looked around and saw her with her usual group, minus the kindergoth.

"What?" she asked nonchalantly, before drawing on her cigarette and puffing out a smoke ring. The fat little bitch didn't take my cue to put it out, and instead lit up two more smokes and gave them to her companions. She was a truant; I had actually given her unused desk to Mr Bart's fourth grade class because she attended lessons so rarely. I put a check next to her name, shaking my head.

"Token."

"Yeah," replied the kid from across the playground, where he was kicking an apple core around with a couple of his classmates.

"Kyle." I looked up just in time to catch him punching the fatass in the head, but I couldn't be fucked to have a word with him about it; it wouldn't make any difference. The little Jewish kid was my only A+ student (surprise, surprise), and the only kid who actually cared. He was also considered the ugly kid, thanks to an incident five years ago, but several girls had disagreed and said he had a sweet ass, and I was on their side.

"Here," he said innocently.

I missed off Timmy, as he wasn't required to go on this trip because he was in a wheelchair. Lucky little rascal.

"Eric."

"Here," he replied, rubbing his face where Kyle had hit him. He looked pissed off, and was probably making Jew jokes. Again, I couldn't be fucked to comment, for two reasons: he'd take no notice, and he might make me eat my parents (seriously, how did the little bastard get out of trouble for that one?)

"Sally."

"Yeah," she said, her voice slightly nasal from a cold. She bent down to pull at a loose thread in her aqua coloured tights, brushing her well-groomed blonde ponytail to one side. There was a slight bulge in her pink jacket pocket, which was probably the money she earned from selling kisses on the playground, the job she kept secret from her parents. I checked her off the list.

"Clyde," I said.

"Here," he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. He was also playing soccer with the two-day-old apple core. While trying to tackle Craig, the little retard slipped in the snow and slammed his head into a tree.

"Annie."

"Hey," she called back brightly. She was sitting on the kerb, showing her freshly painted nails to a group of her friends, who chattered spiritedly. Shame, I thought. Annie's nail art would be trashed within a day on that training compound.

"Baahir."

For the past couple of minutes, he had been watching the apple core soccer match, but now he had lost interest and decided to join Bradley and Kevin's Star Wars discussion. "Yes," he answered, and I marked him in.

"Milly."

"Uh-huh," she replied in her strong southern accent, not looking up. She was staring over Rebecca's shoulder at Annie's nail art, sucking on a mint. Her hair ties were hot pink instead of yellow today, and she wore matching pants.

"Stan."

"Yeah," he replied, sounding agitated. I looked up and saw him pulling at Kyle's jacket, trying to stop him from throwing more punches at Eric. Honestly, I didn't know how that poor kid made it through each day without ripping his hair out. Kyle broke free from his grip, but Stan managed to grab his hat, pulling it off. He held it at arm's length, while Kyle nearly tripped over trying to snatch it back, his hilarious red jewfro bouncing with his every step. Good move, I thought, at least I wouldn't have to give those boys another lecture on the bus.

"Kenny."

He raised his hand and said something which I assumed was, "Here," but he could have been calling me a dildo for all I knew. He was talking casually to Butters, while his three friends fought just behind him. I half-expected a lightening bolt to strike him down at any point.

"Nichole."

"Here," she replied with a small wave. She was talking with Tammy Warner, who had arrived just a minute ago. They giggled as Nichole's boyfriend, Token, skidded on a patch of ice, spraying flakes into the air. After a few moments, Tammy lost interest and left to go see some of her fifth grade classmates.

"DogPoo."

"Yeah." He was also playing with the apple core, which was hardly a surprise. Bebe walked past them on her way to the school doors, where a bunch of her friends were still admiring Annie's nails, and gave the boys a look of disgust. I put a mark next to DogPoo Petuski's name.

"Jenny."

Jenny Simon had gotten bored of Annie and the other girls, so she had joined Nichole in watching some of the boys kick a stupid apple core around. "Here," she said, raising her voice a little so that I could hear her over the sudden gust of wind.

I'd seen Bebe just a minute ago, so I didn't bother reading her name off. She was such a little bitch that I was actually kind of glad. I looked at my list, and marked her off.

"Kevin."

"Here," he said, before turning back to Bradley and Baahir, and rambling on about Princess Leia Organa. God, didn't that kid talk about anything else?

"Butters."

The Stotch kid was talking animatedly with Kenny, saying something about creamy goo. Seriously? Did he still call it that? Why couldn't his parents just tell him that it was jizz? I wasn't fucking doing it, I remembered last time the school taught sex education, and it was a complete disaster. Chef was right about it being the family's responsibility. I didn't bother waiting for a reply from Butters, and simply put a check next to 'Stotch, Leopold'.

"Wendy," I continued.

"Here," she replied. By now, she had also gotten bored of Annie's nails, and had gone to join the fight between her boyfriend Stan, Kyle and Eric. She yelled at Cartman for being a bigot, then Kyle for fighting, then Stan for making it worse. Jesus Christ, I thought, I'm the teacher around here. I couldn't stand that girl anymore; I mean, eight years ago or something, she was alright, but now she was such a little bitch. She'd probably gotten it from Bebe. At PTA meetings, her parents would always ask why she wasn't an A+ student, as if it was sexist that I gave Token, Kyle and Baahir better grades than her. It wasn't my fault nobody understood anything she said.

"Craig."

There was a pause, and I looked around the playground. Last I checked, he was playing apple core soccer with Clyde, DogPoo and Token.

"Yeah," came the reply from behind me, after a few seconds. I turned just in time to see him give Mark Cotswolds, who had just arrived with his dad and little slut of a sister, a friendly punch on the arm, which Mark returned. Mark used to be in my class, but about ten years ago, when the school expanded its building and staff team due to the growing population of South Park, he moved into Mr Bart's class. They went and joined Token and the others, with Craig flipping Kenny off at one of his muffled comments on Rebecca. I marked Craig off, wondering how he and Mark ever became friends.

"Heidi."

"Here," she replied, waving from her place in the middle of the group of girls. Honestly, did they really have that much interest in a few splotches of nail paint? Really? Some of them had the sense to form a circle and play Splat, and other girls were slowly beginning to join in.

"Tweek."

"AGH!" Yep, that was Tweek all right. I hadn't noticed him arrive, if that was even possible. He was watching the match with Jenny and Nichole, as he was too worked up on coffee to actually play. The poor kid was shuddering, even though he was wrapped in a really big scarf. He held a large metal flask which I assumed contained more coffee. I checked him off the list.

"Nelly."

"Here," she said in her high voice, from the Splat circle. All of the girls in the fourth grade classes had joined in now, minus Wendy, Jenny, Henrietta and Nichole.

I marked the last name on my list and sighed. These poor kids would be spending the next two weeks learning to set fires, use guns, and start and finish everything they said with, 'Sir'. I was pissed off; if the Government wanted kids to have military training, they could at least tell us why. But no, just like the giant dome in Springfield and the Imaginationland incident, they had decided to hush it all up as 'classified information', keep us all in the dark. No wonder WikiLeaks was born.

After Mr Adler, Mr Bart and Mrs Streible had all finished their roll calls and made sure everyone was present, we ushered the children into the buses- fourth grade in one, fifth grade in the other. Both buses had enough seats for two teachers and fifty students, but because the fifth grade classes were slightly bigger than the fourth- with twenty-six children in each- two of them had to ride with the fourth graders. There were two spare seats on our bus because the fourth grade classes only had twenty-four children each, and it seemed most fitting that Tammy Warner sit with her boyfriend Kenny, and Michael sit with his two best friends Pete and Henrietta.

After all the kids had finished panicking over not sitting by someone they didn't like, checked they had all their stuff and put their bags under their seats, Mr Adler and Mrs Streible sat in the front of the fifth grade bus, while Mr Bart and I climbed up the steps after the fourth graders. The driver shut the door behind us and turned up the heat. The kids all sighed thankfully. Mr Bart counted fifty children, before giving Mrs Streible a thumbs up through the window. She raised her thumb back at us, signalling that all one hundred kids were still present and still safe. I had a nasty feeling that they wouldn't be before long; over the course of seventeen years, I had grown to really care about the kids in South Park, even if they were a bunch of little bastards.

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**So that was Chapter One, and so far it's longer than the whole of my other story! :D Anyways, the idea came from my anti-American friend (seriously, she says that South Park is crap because it's American, despite the fact that she enjoys plenty of British comedy shows), so yeah. Personally, I think SP is the best thing on TV, and I'm jealous that Britain don't have ANY satirical adult cartoons. NONE! :(**

**Anyway, I'm still fairly new to FanFiction, so reviews will be definitely be appreciated. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!**

**puffygeemoth**


	2. Bus (DogPoo)

The only empty seat on the bus was next to Damien Thorn from the other fourth grade class, and I took it reluctantly. I know that I should have felt sorry for him, but I found it hard because that kid was totally insane. Ever since Pip died, he'd been burning more and more stuff than he used to, and I didn't think it was for the fun of it. You see, Damien was the Devil's kid.

We sat in the second row from the back, with Damien by the window and me by the aisle, and I looked around. The Goth Kids, minus the little kindergarten one, were behind us, talking about death and despair and all that shit. The fat chick sat across the aisle from the other two, lighting up a fresh cigarette. Beside her was Powder, who I knew from my street dance group. I could see how creeped out she was, and personally, I found it hilarious, with the weird emo talk going on right beside her and smoke blowing in her face. She was such a whiny moron in dance sessions, and she didn't even comment on these kids. Wow.

Damien stared out the window, watching the Sun rise over the mountains, tracing strange patterns in the condensation. It wasn't one of those idyllic ones you see in movies, it was the white hot Sun slowly creeping up the cold blue sky. And that was it. I had a feeling that it meant something more to Damien though, what with him being the Son of Satan and stuff.

Across the aisle from us were Craig and Clyde, in one of their extremely rare moments of emotional display. Craig's head rested on Clyde's shoulder as he murmured stuff about missing Stripe, his guinea pig. Clyde patted his arm.

As I watched the mountains drift past, Damien continued to write symbols on the window. I recognised several Illuminati symbols, as well as numbers and letters in the Latin, Cyrillic and Greek alphabets. There was also bunch of stuff which looked like scripture passages in Hebrew or something, and a few other weird things like the logos for Black Sabbath and CHERUB. But I didn't think anything of it because this was Damien and he did crazy shit like turning a kid into a platypus simply because he pissed him off.

In front of us were Stan and Kyle, who were probably gayer than Craig and Clyde looked. Stan was in the aisle seat, listening to Kyle rant on and on about Cartman. No doubt his girlfriend Wendy was upstairs right now, ranting to Bebe about how he always seemed to put Kyle before her.

"Where is Cartman, anyway?"

"Oh, he went onto the top deck with Butters," replied Stan. Kyle looked up, expecting the fat kid to fall through the ceiling and land on top of him. Stan sighed, before leaning across the aisle to talk to Kenny, who was holding hands with a fifth grader called Tammy.

I looked further towards the front, where all the normal people (minus Garrison and the driver) were sitting, and decided that I was bored with Damien tracing signs and stuff in a deranged sort of way. I took out my iPod and plugged myself in.

After a couple of hours of Black Sabbath, and being tuned out to the people around me, the bus came to a sudden halt, causing me to jump and take my headphones out. I nudged Damien, who was writing out the Ten Commandments on some notebook paper, presumably to be burned.

"What was that?" I asked. "Is Tweek driving or something?"

"Huh, I wouldn't be surprised, with that douchebag Garrison looking after us."

"What? Where's Mr Bart?"

"He's cleaning up that." Damien pointed to a puddle of watery vomit with bits of cornflake and banana in it, running all the way up and down the aisle.

"God dammit, Stan," said Kyle's muffle voice.

I stood on my seat so that I could see the people in front of me. Stan looked disoriented, but I'm not going to say I was surprised because he was always throwing up. His friend Kyle held his coat over his nose and mouth, looking a bit pissed off, but I wasn't surprised at that either, because he was always pissed off. Mr Bart was using a towel to mop up Stan's mess, and I sincerely hoped he was going to throw it away. Stan looked on with wide eyes.

"Gross, that's fucking gross," said the goth chick in a really exaggerated tone. She stubbed yet another cigarette on her armrest and stood on her seat. Had she have not liked Stan, she'd have probably shouted, "What is your fucking problem?" at him and then would have treated it like a big deal. Y'know, cuz that's what goths do. The ones at South Park Elementary were some of the mouthiest people in the whole town.

After all the puke was mopped up, Mr Bart stepped out of the bus and chucked the manky towel into the open field we'd stopped by. He then got back on and resumed his seat next to Mr Garrison, and the bus started moving again.

I put my headphones back in after a few minutes to try and distract myself from the lingering smell, and for a while I watched Damien's lips moving as he predictably burned the Ten Commandments and muttered random shit to himself. Probably incantations or something, I didn't really care. I fell asleep with Slipknot pounding at full blast in my ears.

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**Yep, a nice short chapter this time. Cuz there's not really much to say about DogPoo. Thanks for the reviews, and huge thanks to RandomSouthParkerFTW for all the support. I really appreciate it.**

**And to demonlord5000, I love the idea, and I can actually imagine Kyle doing that. (Yeah, Kyle's my favourite 3) But if Cartman dies, the story won't go as I planned, so sorry.**

**If you want, check their stuff out. And a quick warning to you, my beloved reader: THIS WILL BE FUCKING LONG. I MEAN IT. LIKE, 100 CHAPTERS OR SO. AND I DON'T CARE IF THIS DAMN THING TAKES ME TEN YEARS, I'LL FINISH IT.**


	3. Pairs (Stan)

The bus had passed into Wyoming a couple of hours ago, and I was getting bored as fuck. Beside me, Kyle was asleep with his mouth hanging open like it always did. I gave him a soft nudge and passed him half of my ham sandwich (thank God he didn't keep kosher). He took it with a smile and gave me half of his, which was...I had no idea what the hell it was, probably crab paste or something. He had a weird-as-shit mom.

All the kids on the bus were eating their lunch now, having shat all over the no food or drink sign. No doubt Cartman started first, the fat fuck. Kenny and Tammy had also swapped sandwiches.

I looked out the window, seeing how similar the scenery was to Colorado - kinda boring, but not as bad as Nebraska. Yes, I rate all the states I've been to on their landscape. Sighing, I contemplated the sheer sadness of my life. At least I wouldn't have to deal with my dad for a couple of weeks.

Kyle let out a pissed off grunt as we heard the kids upstairs singing Something You Can Do With Your Finger in unison. Oh well, I thought, at least it wasn't Kyle's Mom's a Bitch. I grinned to myself; Cartman could be pretty good fun when he wasn't doing fucked up shit with Butters. However, I stopped grinning before Kyle noticed and asked what was so funny.

My Nike sports watch read 11:04, just under an hour before we were supposed to arrive, so I took out my iPhone and challenged Kyle to a few games of QuizUp. It was a crappy game, really, but we were both hooked as soon as we installed it. After a while, though, we got bored and decided to turn around and wake DogPoo Petuski up by pulling out his earphones and blasting Kyle's ringtone in his ears, which was still Cartman's creepy voice saying, "Yummy yummy, yummy yummy..." God, that was fucked up. Anyway, DogPoo woke suddenly with a yelp, horrified at the prospect of sucking Cartman's farts, and I wasn't surprised; had it been anyone but Kyle, they would be in a mental house by now.

DogPoo was super pissed off at us for the rest of the journey, which wasn't saying much because we arrived about a half hour later, at a huge sprawling square grey building with a semicircular green metal roof and small high windows. It was almost the size of our whole school was before it was expanded, and looked like one of those giant bomb shelter from a war movie, which pissed me off no end because I hate war movies. Oh well, I thought, better to be pissed off than pissed on. I learned that from my dad. There were other smaller buildings as well - a two-storey one which was presumably the dorm block (the large sign above the door was a good hint), an infirmary, and a massive wooden hut next to the dorm block which was probably a temporary mess hall. Inside a barbed-wire fence, there was a formidable-looking assault course including a few sickeningly high wooden beams.

I got out of my seat and Kyle followed suit off the bus. This was gonna be a long two weeks.

Outside the giant bomb shelter was a fresh-faced twenty-something-year-old woman who was there to meet us. Even by conformist standards (yes, part of me is still a bit goth) she looked like a fucking conformist, with that stupid wide grin on her face, acting as if it wasn't fucked up to teach weaponry to elementary school kids. Well actually, for a lot of us this would just be revision.

That is an extremely shitty fact.

We gathered in front of the volunteer and waited for the fifth graders, as their bus had gotten stuck in traffic somewhere along the way behind us. They arrived about five minutes later and gathered with us. Once everyone had shut up, the volunteer greeted us.

"Welcome to the new Wyoming Military Training Centre." She grinned irritatingly wider. "I'm Alison. Could the fourth grade boys go to the mess hall, fifth grade boys go to the main building, fourth grade girls go to the dorm block, and the fifth grade girls go to the infirmary."

There was a bit of a shuffle before we could actually move, as the teachers got the kids into their groups: Mr Bart with the fourth grade boys, Mr Adler with the fifth grade boys, Mr Garrison with the fifth grade girls and Mrs Streible (Art-Whore...unfortunately, I'd be in her class next year) with the fifth grade girls. It wasn't actually necessary for our school teachers to stay with us for the trip, but I'd heard my parents discussing the lack of reason for the new curriculum requirement when they got the letter, and Garrison had a tantrum in class the day after that.

Kenny gave Tammy a hug before parting with her, and I realised that I hadn't said a word to Wendy all day. God, she was going to be so fucking pissed. Dammit.

I saw her making her way over to the dorms alongside Red, but before I could catch her eye Kenny and Kyle both took me by the wrists over to whichever building we were meant to go to.

A mess hall is basically a cafeteria for people who like to think their tough. Seriously, it's the exact same thing. Mr Bart sat on one of the tables, and was promptly scolded by the butchy-looking training instructor. In years to come, I'd probably replay this scene in my head, but with Terrance Stoot's voice instead of that guy's. Did I mention that I had a sad life?

"I am Sergeant Dickson," he bawled.

"More like just Dick," Kenny mumbled, audible only to me, Kyle, Butters and Cartman, who painfully stifled a snigger.

"You will speak only when spoken to, and you will address me as 'Sir'. Is that clear?"

We mostly replied half-heartedly, with something along the lines of, "Yes, Sir," or "Fine, Sir" or "Crystal clear, Sir."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "IS THAT CLEAR?!"

"Yes, Sir," we replied as one. My eyes darted around the hall: Scott, Butters, Tweek and Clyde looked petrified; Mark, Kenny, Craig and Pete looked indifferent; and Cartman looked so pissed off it was funny.

Dick eyed us for a minute. "Good." He marched up and down in front of the assembled fourth grade boys. "Over the course of the next two weeks, you will learn basic survival, driving, hacking, weaponry and self-defence skills. You will be working in pairs for the first week to- NOT YOU TWO, GAYWADS!"

Kyle looked guiltily at Dick as he let go of my hand, which he had grabbed the instant he heard the word, 'pairs'.

"As I was saying," he bawled, "You will be working in pairs for the first week to build teamwork and trust. Any moronic behaviour, and punishments will be administered to both of you."

He then pointed at Butters. "You," he bawled, then pointed at Tweek. "And you. You're a pair. Ground floor, dorm two, bunks A and B."

Butters looked at Tweek, then at the rest of us, before turning to make his way to his new room with his new partner.

"DID I SAY GO THERE?!" Dick's vein bulged in his neck.

"No, Sir," Butters said submissively, "Sorry, Sir."

"Face the wall with your hands on your head."

Butters walked quickly to the back wall and faced with his hands on his head.

Dick glared at Tweek. "You too," he bellowed.

"GAH!" He obeyed, and faced the wall with his hands on his head with Butters, twitching as he did so.

"You." I faced forward and saw Dick's thick red finger in my face. Oh shit, I thought nervously. "You're with him." He pointed at Cartman. "Dorm two, bunks C and D."

Shit, I thought, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Cartman, however, looked fairly pleased, and not in a mischievous way, so I didn't panic so much. In all honesty, I felt kinda bad for him as he had no real friends. I really should have learned from the ManBearPig incident, but I had fallen once again into the trap of sympathy. The kids around me looked relieved, but also concerned for my mental health; not everyone's as resilient as Kyle. The other pairs were as follows:

Craig with Pete (not bad, as neither of them give a fuck about anything)

Kenny with Scott Malkinson (at least the ones most likely to die are together, right?)

Clyde with DogPoo (OK)

Gary Harrison with his new friend Dimitri (lucky)

Kyle with Mark Cotswolds (unlucky)

Token with Damien (shitty, seeing as Token will almost certainly fall victim to Damien's heightened pyromania. "Oh well, at least he can't get any blacker," said Cartman)

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**Thank you for reading this far! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks to DieHardSouthParkerFTW for the continued support (Kenny once died hard...sorry), and thanks to anyone who feels like reviewing this chapter (hint hint). TAOISTS, KRISHNAS, BUDDHISTS AND ALL YOU ATHEISTS TOO! MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO YOU! (Don't worry about prejudice, I'm an atheist myself) And happy New Year if I haven't updated by then.**

**(Am I using too many brackets?)**


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